


How Did We Even Get Here

by stargirl (orphan_account)



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Age Difference, Incest, M/M, Not much of a plot, Short, but its still there, sort of??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 08:19:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3403565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/stargirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are three main reasons why Hiro loves illegal bot battles. But after Tadashi storms in, Hiro's thinking there might just be a fourth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Did We Even Get Here

Hiro loves bot-fighting. And when he really thinks about it, he can break it down neatly into three reasons why.

The first is anonymity. He squeezes through the humming crowd, undetected until he throws himself forwards.

The second is the moment of silence, when the audience doesn’t know whether to laugh or pity him.

But most of all, amongst the stench of fried street food and the silvery twilight, he loves to win. The fury in the eyes of his opponent, the incredulity, the red hot rage.

These are the reasons Hiro blatantly ignores the law, pulls all-nighters fueled by energy drinks to perfect coding, and holds his breath until he hears his brother snoring in the bed next to him before he sneaks out.

Hiro’s head snaps backwards.

“You think a punk like you can hustle me?”

Cinderblocks dig into his back and his heart’s trying to beat its way out of his chest in between thoughts of _this guy really needs to visit an oral hygienist_.

Because in between the euphoria and the bursts of adrenaline, Hiro always manages to forget about one factor.

“Well,” he says, and his ears perk up at the sound of a revving engine.

Tadashi spins to a stop, grabbing Hiro by the collar and heaving him onto the back of his bike slamming a helmet onto his cranium.

Wind whips by Hiro’s ears and they race out.

The thugs are slightly more competent than the two Hiro faced at last week’s battle, chasing after them on modified segways.

“Hold on!” Hiro plasters himself to his brother’s back, breathing in the scent of citrus body wash and oil that clings to Tadashi.

Tadashi slips between two cars and they disappear in the back alleys of the city.

“Hiro,” says Tadashi, his voice scattered by the wind, “are you hurt?”

And Hiro has to bite his lip because that’s always the first question.

“No,” he says, ignoring the throbbing in his left wrist.

“Good. Now, I _told_ you that – “

“WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU OVER THE SOUND OF THIS DORKY HELMET.”

Tadashi mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “it’s a safety precaution” before he rolls to a stop outside the café.

One hand on the doorknob, Tadashi turns and says, “do not make any noise, Aunt Cass is still sound asleep and tomorrow is some national donut festival, she’ll need all the energy she can get.”

They make it up two flights of stairs before Tadashi slams the bedroom door.

“Unbelievable,” Tadashi whispers in his angriest voice, pacing the tiny confinements of the room.

Sometimes, Hiro thinks there must be something wrong with him. He can trapeze around the city, shuck off all responsibilities, reprogram mall security cameras to track a single customer, but the only time his gut ever twists with guilt is when his brother stands in front of him, trembling with concern.

“I didn’t know where you were!”

Hiro flops down onto Tadashi’s bed, the only one that’s actually has a comforter that isn’t somewhere on the floor.

“But you tracked me down.”

“And found you cornered by lumberjacks, Hiro! Big, scary lumberjacks!”

“Tadashi, they weren’t really – “

Tadashi spins around, crowding into Hiro’s personal bubble. Hiro can make out the tiny splash of freckles across his brother’s nose.

“You’re lying to me. I can feel it.” Tadashi’s words lack heat, but they slap Hiro across the face.

Hiro’s chest constricts, and because he’s never been good at lying to one of the only people he cares about, he rolls up his sleeve.

Tadashi’s warm hands wrap encircle his forearm, and Hiro blinks into the blinding light of the bedside lamp.

“Are there any others?” Tadashi asks.

Tadashi’s gripping Hiro like he could shatter at any moment, and Hiro tears his arm away.

“Bro, you need to chill.”

Tadashi tugs at the collar of Hiro’s shirt, and Hiro winces.

He braces himself for more pacing, another lecture. Instead, Tadashi just lets his hands fall into his lap, and says, with a look of such unaltered pain splashed across his face, “why do you do it?”

At this point, Hiro seriously contemplates handing him a written copy of his list.

Tadashi traces the juncture between Hiro’s neck and shoulder, his fingertips cool against Hiro’s burning skin.

“It’s because of you,” Hiro blurts out. One hand flies to cover his mouth.

Tadashi crumbles.

“No, don’t do that thing with your face,” says Hiro, “that is not what I meant. It’s just – you always show up, right when I need you, like some knight in shining armor. And I – I love it, okay?”

Hiro slumps backwards, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. They sting, like he’d broken his pollex again.

He stares at the ceiling, where Tadashi had plastered posters of molecules and cheesy jokes written in binary coding.

Tadashi’s face popped into view.

“So,” he says, “you just like being protected.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“By me.”

Hiro flushes, smacking Tadashi’s chest.

“Eww, you’re so embarrassing.”

Tadashi grabs Hiro and cradles him to his chest.

Hiro’s skin burns. He feels soft lips dip down, pressing a kiss to his hairline.

He’s wrapped in a cocoon of warmth, but it’s not right.

“No,” he says, “this isn’t what I _want_.”

Cortisol must still be swimming through his veins, Hiro thinks, because he presses a kiss to Tadashi’s neck, just below his Adam’s apple, the only place he can reach.

He presses another, slightly higher, and another, craning his neck.

The arms around his stiffen. Hiro’s cuddling a solid board.

His cheeks burn. His gut twists. His heart aches.

He can’t bring himself to regret it.

“Tadashi, I –“

It isn’t the pounding of his own heart that Hiro feels. He doesn’t know how he was going to finish that sentence because Tadashi grabs his face and kisses him.

Tadashi kisses him like he’s going off to war, like he’s falling on a sword.

And suddenly, Hiro knows exactly how he would have finished that sentence, because Tadashi beats him to it.

“I love you,” he says, running a thumb across Hiro’s cheek.

Hiro kisses him. It doesn’t make sense not to.

His kiss is sloppy, open mouthed with too much tongue, but it feels like his first bot fight.

Blood rushes to the pit of Hiro’s stomach and Tadashi flips them over, bracing himself over Hiro’s head, blocking out the outside world.

They’re pressed chest to chest, panting a symphony, and all Hiro can think about it how Tadashi’s mouth looks just like the jar of cherries Aunt Cass keeps on the top shelf of her fridge. Something pokes into his stomach.

Hiro swallows. Tadashi presses their foreheads together, his pupils blown wide.

“Hiro,” he breathes, and Hiro’s heart hiccups, “do you really want this?”

“Oh, _hell_ yes.”

Tadashi chuckles. Hiro feels the vibrations crushing into his chest.

“Say it, Hiro. Please.”

Hiro reaches out blindly, finding Tadashi’s hands resting above his head and entwining their fingers.

“I want you to fuck me.”

They’re both shivering. Hiro press another kiss to Tadashi’s mouth, more like a clashing of lips. Tadashi’s fingers curl underneath the hem of Hiro’s t-shirt.

The shirt slips over his head and is discarded somewhere on the floor. Hiro doesn’t have a moment to feel flustered before Tadashi kisses the tip of his sternum, then his ribs, and Hiro’s fingers are curling into the sheets.

He tugs at Tadashi’s belt with fumbling hands because _they both need to be naked right now_.

Tadashi laughs. “Relax,” he says, covering Hiro’s hands, “we’ve got all night.” Slowly, like the thawing of ice, his unclasps his belt and tosses it to the floor. He unbuttons his sweater, then his shirt. He pauses for a beat before shucking off his pants, and then that’s it, they have shot straight past the point of no return.

Tadashi reaches down, rubbing a hand along Hiro’s navel before his fingers dip below his waistband.

Hiro wiggles out of his pants with much less grace.

“Your boxers are adorable,” says Tadashi, tugging at them. They slip down.

“Oh, shut it. You picked them out for me.”

Tadashi wraps a hand around his brother's cock. Hiro freezes.

"Tadashi, I - I've never - "

"I get it. Your crazy nanobots eat up most of your free time. Maybe you're just a late bloomer." His grin warms Hiro to the core, and he pinches Hiro's hip. "Don't worry, I've got you."

He aligns their cocks, both already leaking, and smears his hand. He gives them a few good jerks and Hiro moans, his breath clipped. "Don't you fucking smirk," he says, so Tadashi kisses him instead. They’re moving, thrusting in a sloppy rhythm when Hiro pulls back.

"Tadashi," he says, "could you..." His face burns, because there is really no correct way to ask someone _to fuck you senseless_. He’s aching, and he knows that he wants.

Tadashi kisses him, and the warm embrace disappears, there’s the sound of a drawer shutting. Tadashi wraps his arms around Hiro, picking him up. He cradles him to his chest for a moment; kissing the top of Hiro’s head in a gesture so sweet it makes Hiro’s heart ache.

Hiro feels a knuckle enter into his entrance. It slips past the tight ring of muscle, freezing cold. Hiro shivers.

Tadashi kisses his forehead and tightens his hold.

One knuckle turns into two, joined by another. Tadashi rubs against that sensitive bundle of nerves, and Hiro lets out another breathy moan.

“Are you ready?” Tadashi’s voice ghosts over Hiro’s ear. Hiro nods.

He’s empty, and his grip on Tadashi’s neck tightens. Something nudges at his backside.

Tadashi presses into him and starts to move. He groans, pounding out a steady rhythm. Hiro feels like he’s being ripped in two. He’s rock hard, his legs wrapped around his brother’s waist.

His nails dig into Tadashi’s back – _he bets Baymax would suggest an antibacterial spray,_ he thinks wildly – and slams his hips down.

“I can’t get close enough,” he breathes, tightening his grip. Tadashi just moans his name, over and over, like a prayer.

At some point, his words turn incoherent, stumbling into each other. Tadashi just grasps his hips harder, pressing into him over and over.

With Tadashi wrapped around him, Hiro feels - .

 _Safe._  

He tips over the edge. His vision goes white and he shutters, splashing Tadashi’s chest with white-hot cum.

Tadashi’s thrusts become frantic, pushing deeper and deeper.

“Hiro,” he moans, one last time, before his hips stutter to a halt.

For a moment, Hiro just sprawls across Tadashi. If his brother decides to move, Hiro would probably collapse.

They pant against each other, their chests rising and falling in unison.

Eons later, Tadashi shifts, swiping a shirt off the floor and using it to clean off first Hiro, then himself.

“Hey,” says Hiro, “that’s mine.” He tries to swat at it but his arms are no longer under his control.

Tadashi laughs and tosses it to the floor.

Hiro curls up like a cat. Tadashi settles down behind him and draws up the covers.

Hiro shuffles over, nuzzling into Tadashi’s chest.

“Tadashi?” he asks, his eyes closed.

“Mmhm?”

“Can we do this every time you drag me out of a bot fight?”

Tadashi kisses Hiro’s temple, throwing an arm around his waist and tugging him close.

“Sure thing, buddy.”

There are three reasons why Hiro enjoys illegal bot battles.

He may have just found a fourth.

 


End file.
